


Off the Mark

by brandnewfashion



Series: Off the Mark [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Christmas, Developing Friendships, Domestic Avengers, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, M/M, New Year's Eve, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Pining, Steve Rogers is not a blushing virgin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:23:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandnewfashion/pseuds/brandnewfashion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tony makes assumptions, and Steve disproves every single one of them. </p><p> </p><p>  <em>Aka a "five times Steve surprised Tony, and one time Tony surprised Steve" story.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Great Scott!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony is offended, makes a fool of himself, and realizes that he is seriously fucked.

It takes over a month for Steve to accept Tony’s invitation to move into the tower.

To be fair, he was on some super-secret spy mission with Natasha and that Falcon guy, but even the deadly redhead had moved her stuff in before leaving for ~~Madripoor~~ their _undisclosed_ location.

Before you ask: no, Tony doesn't hack SHIELD's files... anymore. 

Anyway, it's about a month after Pepper breaks up with him that Tony starts feeling _lonely_. With Bruce also off exploring the Amazon or some shit, Tony has no one else to bother, and building new suits can only take up so much of his time.

Tony debates calling the Avengers. After all, the other suites were finally finished a short while ago (or they should be, given the size of the invoices from the contractor and decorator). He's in the middle of a huge, internal battle with himself one day when Clint just shows up with a suitcase and duffel, and asks Tony where his room is.

Decision made for him, Tony sends the rest of the Avengers personal invitations to move into the tower that night.  Thor shows up the next day, and Bruce comes back from his trip soon after. Even Natasha makes an appearance a week later to drop off her things before leaving for the aforementioned mission.

Eventually, a month passes and Natasha comes back _without_ Steve in tow, and Tony realizes that the all-American hero never even bothered to _e-mail him back_.

Tony was most certainly _not_ offended to the point that he suited up and flew to the Helicarrier where Steve was currently working.  He certainly did _not_ shove past Maria Hill and storm into a conference room, interrupting an important meeting with the United States Secretary of Defense.

_“Uh…” Tony was thankful that they couldn’t see his face through the faceplate._

_“Stark." Oh, Tony's never seen Fury looked so pissed before... _ever_. "What are you doing?!” He wouldn't be surprised if he popped a blood vessel. _

_Steve stands up from his seat and grabs Tony’s arm. “Excuse me, sir, but there appears to be an emergency situation with the Avengers.”_

_"Uh, sorry," Tony apologizes to everyone in the room, his voice distorted because of the suit. "This should only take a minute or two."_

_“Of course, of course,” says... fuck, he really should remember the name of the Secretary of Defense._

_Steve pulls on Tony's elbow and leads him out into the hall. “What are you doing here, Tony?" Before Tony can reply, he adds: "And could you please take that helmet off? I feel like I’m talking to a robot.” He looks a little irritated, but that's okay. Tony can deal with irritated. He deals with irritated people all the time._

_He obliges, puts his faceplate up, and immediately asks, “Why aren’t you living at the tower?”_

_Steve takes a step back, his brows furrowed with confusion. “What?”_

_“I sent you an invite over a month ago, and you never responded._ Natasha _moved in after you guys got back from your mission, but you weren't there.”_

_“I—”_

_“I thought we put aside our differences a while ago. Big man in a suit of armor, nothing but a science experiment, Loki's scepter, blah, blah, blah. Unless I'm wrong? Don’t tell me that you secretly wanted to kill me when we went out to lunch that one time—”_

_"Jeez, of course I don’t want to kill you, Tony—”_

_“Then what—”_

_Steve's patience has obviously run out, if the hand over Tony’s mouth is any indication.  “If you must know, I was going to come by today,” he retracts his hand when Tony gives him his full attention. “I’ve just been really busy tying up some loose ends around here. It's been pretty hectic.”_

_“…oh.”_

_“Yeah.” They're silent for a moment, and Tony notices that Steve's standing at parade rest... but it doesn't have as much of an effect as usual because it looks like Steve is trying too hard to keep his face stoic. Tony sees his lips quirk momentarily—it's a smile so fleeting that Tony's not sure if it was real or a hallucination. Regardless, it's nice to see him slightly less..._ serious _than usual. It's actually kind of... adorab—wait, where the fuck is this even_ coming _from?_

_The genius clears his throat. “Since we're both equally informed now, I guess I’ll see you later then?” Tony asks, ignoring the stupid fluttery thing his heart was doing._

_“Yes.” The smile is more apparent now._

_“Okay, so… we’re good here?”_

_“Yes, Tony,” the soldier replies, chuckling.  Damn, Tony needed to visit his doctor about these heart palpitations._

_“All right then.  I’ll just,” Tony inched away, “I’ll just be going.  You go back to your important meeting with—”_

_“The President and Secretary of Defense?”_

_“Shit.  The_ President _is here too?”_

Long story short: Tony definitely _hasn't_ embarrassed himself in front of two of the most important people in the world, and he definitely _wasn’t_ the laughing stock of SHIELD for the rest of the day (fuck you very much, Hill).

Steve doesn’t show up at the tower until well past dinner time, so Tony calls for an impromptu movie night to celebrate his homecoming.  It doesn’t take long for everyone to realize that Steve's arrival is—pardon the cliché—the missing piece of the puzzle.  They all just seemed to fall into step the second Steve walked through the door.

It feels like they are all actually… well, _friends_.

It's nice.

It's nice watching Clint have a popcorn war with Natasha with Bruce sitting in between them as a mediator, and listening to Thor’s commentary on 80’s fashion… and hearing Steve laugh when Marty McFly made a fool of himself on the screen is nice too.

Actually, come to think of it, Steve’s laugh is just… kind of nice on its own.

Okay, Tony _really_ needs to stop thinking these things.

“—ou all right?”

Tony snaps out of his reverie and looks over at the speaker.  “What?”

“Are you all right?” Steve asks again. “You’ve been staring into space for the past ten minutes.”

“Yeah, I just—I was thinking.”

Steve looks like he's debating on asking him another question, but thankfully, decides to drop the subject.  “Okay, if you say so,” he replies, settling back into the couch (and if he had felt the same little spark of electricity that Tony did when their knees brushed, he doesn’t say anything).

Tony steals another glance at the man next to him, clad in jeans and a t-shirt, popcorn kernels strewn on his lap.  

He really _does_ look nice like this... relaxed and without the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looks _young_ , and it's possibly the first time that Tony's ever realized that it's because Steve _is_ young. Like... ridiculously young, especially for someone who's experienced what he has. Tony's trying to figure out why he's thinking of all of this now when it happens.

It's when Tony feels the vibration of Steve’s laugh where their knees are touching, and Steve looks over at him to see if he's laughing too that Tony realizes he's screwed.

So very, very screwed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story takes place after the events of The Avengers, IM3 and Cap 2. 
> 
> The basic timeline is as follows:  
> April 2012: IM2  
> May 2012: The Avengers  
> December 2012: IM3  
> April 2013: Cap 2  
> June 2013: Tony invites Steve out to lunch  
> July 2013: Tony and Pepper break up  
> September 2013: Steve moves into the tower


	2. Indecent Exposure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony is too easily distracted.

Tony wakes up because he thinks he hears a missile headed straight for his tower.

When no immediate signs of impending doom are apparent, he peers over the edge of the couch and discovers that the sound is only coming from Thor, who is currently passed out on the floor and snoring as loud as a… a _bilgesnipe_.

 Tony takes a look around the room and sees Clint sprawled on the other sofa, but sees no sign of the others—they probably made it back to their rooms. 

The genius reluctantly stands up and stretches, already feeling the aches consequent of sleeping on any surface other than a bed.  God, does Tony hate getting old.  He scrubs at his hair as he makes his way to the kitchen, but stops dead in his tracks when he sees that someone is already in there.

Steve is making pancakes… shirtless.  Tony glances at the clock and frowns.  It’s barely seven in the morning and the good ol’ captain is already making breakfast and _singing_ in the kitchen, and _shirtless_.  

“ _I’ve got a soul, but I’m not a soldier_.”

Okay, so Tony’s really glad that Steve actually listened to the music that he preloaded onto the phones he gave the team a few months ago.

 _“I’ve got a—_ Oh, hey, Tony.  Good morning,” Steve greets, finally registering the other man’s presence. “Coffee’s on, if you want some.”

“Is that even a question?” Tony responds, walking around the kitchen island to get to the machine.  He grabs one of the mugs on the counter and pours himself a cup of the bitter liquid.  He brings the mug to his lips, savoring the feel of the scalding beverage trickling down his throat.  “Oh, this is heavenly,” he remarks, ambling over to the Stove.  “So what are you—Where the hell are your pants, Rogers?”

Steve glances at him, and then looks at himself, as if he’s _just_ realized that he’s standing in the communal kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of navy blue boxers.

Wow, they’re awfully short, aren’t they? 

Tony is nowhere near enough alert to deal with this.  He gulps down the rest of his coffee, and pours himself another cup.

“Did you really take the time to take off your shirt and pants before falling asleep in the living room?” he asks.

The tips of Steve’s ears turn red. “God, no.  I went back to my room.  This is just how I sleep.”

“Right.”  Tony clears his throat and avoids looking at the expanse of Steve’s back by fixating his gaze on the stack of pancakes next to the burner.  “Those for us?”

“Yeah.  I’m about to make some eggs too.  How do you take ‘em?”

“Any way. Surprise me,” the genius says into his mug.  He grabs a plate and loads a short stack of the pancakes onto it before taking a seat at the counter.  He slathers them with butter and syrup before taking a bite. “These are delicious,” he remarks, and proceeds to stuff his face even further.

“Morning,” Clint greets as he walks in, also looking far too chipper for this hour. 

“Good morning, Clint,” Steve says from the stove. “Eggs?”

“Nah, I’m good.  Thanks, Cap.” The archer walks over to the coffee maker, and briefly holds one of the mugs laid out on the counter before taking the carafe off of the burner and drinking straight from it.

Tony glares at him. “Really, Barton?”

The archer only shrugs, steals a pancake from Tony’s plate and sits down next to him.  Tony is sorely tempted to shove Clint off of the stool when he steals the paper from him too.

“Entitled freeloader,” Tony grunts.

“Narcissistic asshole,” Clint says in kind, looking at him over the paper.   

Tony leers at him but brushes it off. “Whatever, Barton.”  He’s proud of himself for not taking the bait; he deserves a fucking medal for that. Maybe he’s finally growing up. Rhodey and Pepper would be so proud of him. 

Or maybe he can program JARVIS to play _Surfin’ Bird_ whenever Clint walks into a room.

Tony makes a note to weigh the consequences of his options later, and instead digs into the last remaining pancake on his plate.

He startles when Steve sets down a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of him. "You've really got this whole team leader thing down, huh? Already looking out for us and feeding us?"

"I can cook. I was awake. I figured I might as well."

"Well, thanks." Clint reaches for a slice of bacon, but Tony swats it away. That's when Steve magically produces another plate and sets it in front of the archer. 

“I uh, actually wanted to thank you,” Steve says, leaning against the counter.

Tony sees the muscles in Steve’s arms flex and his mouth goes dry. “For what?”

“Inviting us all to live here.  I know you’ve been planning for the past year—”

“How did you know that?”

“Clint told me,” Steve says nonchalantly.

“Okay.” Tony looks over at Clint. “How did _you_ know that?”

“Hacking goes both ways, Stark,” Clint states without looking up from the newspaper.

“Anyway,” Steve drawls, getting Tony’s attention again, “It’s a really great idea.  I think it’s exactly what this team needs, and so… thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Tony says, a little bewildered.

Steve shoots him a smile that makes Tony want to cry because it’s just so damn _perfect_.

The others eventually filter in too, and soon, they’re all sitting around the counter, “breaking fast,” as Thor likes to say.  Bruce and Natasha sit, engrossed in the news station that Tony turned on, while Thor and Clint argue over which sport is more fun to watch.  Steve ends up sitting next to him, and Tony can practically feel his body heat—even on this slightly chilly October morning, he’s a human furnace.

The others don’t say anything about his state of undress, but then again, given their professions, they've all definitely seen much stranger things.

But as it turns out, walking around the tower half-naked is kind of a _normal thing_ for Steve.  He's shirtless... a lot. Like, _a lot_ , a lot. And it doesn't even help when he _does_ wear shirts because he's just so damn broad shouldered that clothes just stick to him like a second skin.

He also still makes breakfast wearing only boxers, more often than not.  In order to avoid any awkward… um, _situations_ during breakfast, Tony gets into the habit of meditating for a few minutes before going downstairs and even facing Steve.  

The fact that Tony hasn't gone on a date in months only adds to his predicament.

One afternoon, Tony looks out his bedroom window to see the Captain doing yoga out on the deck, sweaty and wearing only a pair of (very short) running shorts, and Tony doesn’t know whether to thank or curse the heavens for the sight.

Honestly, the last thing he needs is a silly crush on one of his teammates.  They all _just_ started living together.  He and Steve have barely gotten past the “grudging respect” stage of their friendship, and damn it all to hell if this stupid elementary school crush starts making everything awkward.

Tony wants to punch himself in the face for his idiocy—he's Tony _fucking_ Stark, after all.  He's been captured by terrorists, built a weaponized suit of armor out of metal scraps in a cave, has flown a nuke into a portal, defeated the Mandarin, and perfected the Extremis virus.  He can find a way to dismiss the stupid, fluttery feeling in his chest. 

He decides to take one of his suits out to try to get his mind off of his problem, if only temporarily.  When he opens the door out into the hallway, however, Steve is there, hand raised to knock on the door.  He’s wearing a form-fitting, pale-blue button down, and dark jeans, and Tony resists the urge to jump him then and there.   

“Hey, Tony,” Steve greets. “Natasha, Thor and I are going out to lunch.  We were wondering if you wanted to join us.”

Tony nods wordlessly.

He can go flying another time.  


	3. Damn Yankees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony finds Steve's profanity _adorable_.

The Avengers don’t believe that Tony eats enough, and Tony honestly doesn't know how that reputation started.  Sure, he spends hours in the lab, but he eats.  He always remembers to eat.  He _loves_ to eat. He's even eaten without Pepper on their _date_ nights on numerous occasions because he just couldn't wait.

 _Maybe_ he skips out on lunch with everyone once in a while, but he’s a busy man. Regardless, he still sets aside time to order take out, or eat a box of doughnuts or two.

All right, so his dietary choices may be frowned upon (at times), but he still eats, goddamnit.  

Tony's pretty sure that the team has been having secret meetings without him, because ever since they all moved in, each and every one of them have taken the initiative to personally escort Tony from the lab and up to the kitchen.  It's become a routine, really: Tony initially protests and promises that he'll meet them there, but then Steve or whoever else was there (it was usually Steve, though) would refuse to leave unless Tony accompanied him (or her).

So he's interrupted at twelve-thirty for lunch, and seven for dinner, whenever he's working in the lab. On the rarer days that he's doing work in his office, someone personally delivers a plate to his desk.

On this sunny Tuesday morning, Tony wakes up a little later than he had initially planned (JARVIS tried his best, really, but Thor really wanted to try some new drinking game and Tony's tolerance just isn't what it used to be). He takes the quickest shower of his life, throws on a suit, and takes the elevator down from his penthouse to the conference rooms twenty floors down for a shareholders’ meeting that he had put off for weeks.

The meeting goes on for four hours. It’s two-thirty in the afternoon when it finally ends, and Tony feels like he's going to keel over because on top of the massive hangover, he never ate breakfast.  He practically crawls to the elevator with whatever energy he has left, rides up the fifteen floors to the living areas, and drags his feet into the kitchen.

Luckily, he finds a plate of leftover subs in the fridge, and they look like they're from his favorite Italian place down the street. He debates choosing between the pastrami and the classic Italian, but ultimately grabs both because _food_ —he begins to stuff his face before he can even situate himself on a stool.

The sandwich is an explosion of flavor in his mouth, absolute heaven. Tony thinks it may just be his stomach speaking, but it's _almost_ better than sex. Food's always been the most effective method of relaxing after stressful days at work.  However, it’s after he takes another huge bite and starts chewing that he hears a familiar voice shout, _“What kind of a fucking call is that?!  Is he out of his damn mind?!”_ and Tony promptly loses it and starts choking.

Fortunately, he manages to get a hold of himself, because wouldn’t it be just the saddest thing if—after all of his technological achievements and the superheroing that he’s done—tomorrow's paper read, ‘ _Tony Stark chokes on Italian sub, found dead at 40’_?

Tony picks up his plate, grabs a soda from the fridge, and leaves the kitchen.  He walks into the living room and sees a baseball game playing on the television.  Moreover, he notices the three grown men sitting on the couch, clearly too small for them.  Steve, who Tony is ninety-seven percent certain was the one who yelled first, is sandwiched between Clint and Sam Wilson.

“He was safe!   He was fucking safe!” Clint yells, gesturing wildly at the television.

“That call was bull,” Wilson says, taking a sip of his beer. "Absolute bull."

“I came in here to see what all the yelling was about,” Tony says, making his presence known, “but now it just all makes sense.”

“Oh, hi, Tony,” Steve greets him. “We didn’t realize you were home, we didn’t disturb you, did we?” Tony wants to shrivel up and die because just a minute ago the man was cursing up a storm and now he was _apologizing_? Just who the hell was he?

Tony waves him off and sits down on the recliner, resting his plate of food on his lap. “It’s fine.  I just got back. I should be used to it anyway, what with the fact that I’m practically living in a frat house—”

“WHAT THE HELL?!” The other three yell so loud that Tony accidentally spills some of his drink on his shirt.  They leap off of the couch and start arguing—with themselves or the television, Tony can’t really tell. 

All he really knows is that baseball’s never interested him until now.

I mean, let’s be honest: it’s a fucking boring game.  Tony’s been more of a basketball kind of guy.  Games like baseball and football move too slow for him: he needs action in his life.

The others are still yelling, and Tony reads the screen to at least _try_ and get an idea of what’s going on. 

“Those damn Yankees,” Clint mutters under his breath.

“Wait, you’re all… _against_ the Yankees?” Tony asks.

The trio stare at him like he’s suddenly transformed into a giant, green rage monster.

“What?  I don’t follow baseball,” he says.

“Clearly not,” says Wilson.

“It’s just… they’re playing against _Boston_.  You really want _Boston_ to win?”

“Like hell we want Boston to win,” Clint answers.

“We just want the Yankees to lose,” Steve clarifies.

Tony lets the information sink in before he asks his next question.  “All right, I know why you,” he points at Steve, “hate the Yankees, but why don’t you two like ‘em?”

“Grew up a Mets fan,” Wilson says, “Everyone in my family’s one.”

“And I just hate them,” is Clint’s response, as of it explains everything.

“Oka—”

“Holy shit!  Did you guys see that?!” Steve exclaims, staring at the television in awe.

Tony, in fact, _hadn’t_ seen it, but from the way Steve is practically jumping up and down, he can guess that whatever happened is at least a good thing.

Watching Steve’s reactions during a ball game is always entertaining.  He gets ridiculously riled up and yells strings of profanity Like the _soldier_ he is.

The thing is, Tony had never really believed that Steve was some innocent angel.  Hero worshipping childhood aside, he realized as he got older, that practically everyone curses every now and then.

Tony’s noticed it on the battlefield, but Steve rarely ever utters anything worse than a “hell” here or a “damn” there.  It seemed that doombots, enchanted dragons and aliens can’t make Steve as frustrated as baseball can.

Steve’s explained that he’s afraid of children hearing him, since a lot of their battles are broadcast live.  Tony and Clint, on the other hand, couldn’t give a damn.

The first time Tony hears Steve say, “shit” is when he burns himself after touching the hot electric stove while making dinner with Bruce a few days after moving in.

It isn’t until a week later, when Steve accidentally breaks a doorknob with his supersoldier strength, that Tony hears him yell, “fuck” for the first time.

He hadn’t been surprised, exactly, but it was still a little strange to hear an American icon yell cursing under his own roof.   

The three continue yelling and gesturing at the television, oblivious to the sandwich-eating billionaire in the room. 

“A homerun!”

“We’re only behind by a fucking point! _One_ point!”

Tony gathers his things and gets up from his seat.  “Enjoy your game, I’m off to the lab.”

Steve doesn’t even look away from the television when he says, “Okay, Tony.  Have fun.”

When the genius loads his plate into the dishwasher, he hears the Captain yell in a distinctive Brooklen accent, “ _Fuck yeah!  C’mon, c’mon.  We’ve got this!”_

Tony never thought he would ever find cursing to be so _attractive_ , but here he was, getting turned on by Captain America’s inner New Yorker.

He really needs to re-evaluate his life.


	4. Let's Talk About Sex, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony learns that what happens in art school, doesn't always stay in art school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really just wanted an excuse to write about how Steve Rogers isn't a naive, blushing virgin.

If you give Tony a problem, he won’t just give you an answer: he'll come up with twenty different scenarios in his head and calculate the probability of every outcome in order to produce the _best_ solution. 

He’s constantly analyzing the situations he’s in, continuously running numbers in his head, and taking every factor into account to… well, predict the results. There's a reason they call him a 'futurist,' after all.

He’s always been reluctant to back down from a challenge.  Being a child prodigy, graduating from MIT at seventeen, and having someone like Howard as a father basically bred him to have this mentality.  It’s just in his nature.

It’s not that he wants to prove that he’s right.  Tony knows that you can’t always be right because, as smart as he is, he _doesn’t_ know everything.  He isn’t ashamed to admit it.  He just hates sitting on the sidelines while someone like Reed Richards finds something new to gloat about.

So to reiterate: Tony doesn’t have this unyielding _need_ to be right.

He just likes proving everyone else is wrong. 

It’s actually a lot of fun.

What Tony _doesn’t_ find fun, however, is losing a game of Risk during a spontaneous game ~~night~~ day (Tony mentioned the game to Steve in passing during lunch, and within twenty minutes, the whole team was seated around the coffee table).  The game takes over six hours… but seeing as the group playing the game consists of a World War II hero (and commander of a government spy organization), the leading expert in gamma radiation, a warrior prince, a manipulative assassin, the world’s best marksman, and a genius mechanical engineer, it was kind of expected.

It’s possible that Tony has a _tiny_ temper tantrum when he’s the first person to be eliminated, and is left to idly watch the game as he goes over quinjet designs on his tablet.

It is also possible that he flips the game board when Clint is declared the winner.

They should've played Monopoly. Tony always kicks ass at Monopoly.

Everyone slowly trickles out of the room until only he and Natasha are left.  When they realize it’s barely seven o’clock, they decide to play a game of chess.  Tony is still recovering from his previous loss, but decides this can be the first of many ways he can redeem himself. He's good at chess. More importantly, Clint isn't there, so Tony can't get distracted.

But of course, Tony’s wrong.

He’s wrong because Steve comes back into the living room half an hour later, wearing black jeans, and a navy sport coat over a white button down.  The jacket only accentuates the man's ridiculous shoulder to hip ratio, and Tony swears he can see Steve's abs through the fabric of the shirt. Tony internally screams at himself to stop drooling.

Natasha wolf-whistles. “Looking good, Commander.”

By some miracle, Steve suppresses a blush. “Really?” he asks, not quite believing her. “It isn’t too much?”

“No, not too much.” Natasha nudges Tony’s arm. “Doesn’t he look good, Tony?”

“Y-yeah,” Tony’s surprised he can get any words out.  “You look great.”  He clears his throat and puts on a grin. “Hot date tonight?”

He fidgets a bit where he’s standing. “Um… kind of?  I guess you could call it that.”

“Oh,” Tony notices his voice falter a bit, but immediately composes himself. “Well, have fun, Cap.  Use that All-American charm of yours.”

Steve chuckles and heads toward the elevator  “I'll try. See you guys later.  Thanks for the help.”

“Have fun, Steve,” Natasha calls out before stealing Tony’s remaining rook.  

Tony looks down. “How the hell—”

“You’re really off your game today, Mr. King of Multitasking.” She sits back. “Your move.”

He waits a few moments before moving his knight and asking: “Is he going out with Thirteen?”

“They broke up months ago.  He’s going out with Agent Miller,” Natasha replies curtly, evaluating her next move. She then eyes him suspiciously. “Why the sudden interest in Steve’s love life?”

Tony tries not to look taken aback by the question.  “I… am just concerned,” he says tentatively, “He’s my teammate.  The last thing I want is for him to be dating some undercover supervillain.”

“Stark.” She looks absolutely unconvinced.

“You already know, don’t you?”

“I figured it out a while ago.”

This surprises Tony more than it should. “When?”

“When you took Steve out to lunch over the summer.”

“Wha—I didn’t even like him then! I was still with Pepper,” he defends.

“I know that,” she assures.

Tony eyes her carefully. “So what? You knew that Pepper and I were on the outs, and that I would eventually start lusting after Steve after he moved in?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds so insensitive.” She looks at him thoughtfully. “I knew that you two were drifting apart then, which is by no means your fault, regardless of what you may think. However, I also know that Steve is a good guy, and it would be hard for anyone, let alone you, to _not_ fall in love with him."

Tony sputters. “Wha--who said anything about love? I don't love him. It's just a stupid crush.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Stark.” She steals another pawn. 

Tony scrutinizes the board. “Damn you, Romanoff.”

“You really need to work on your game.”

Whether she was referring to chess or Tony's pathetic pining, he isn't sure. “I am perfectly on my game,” he counters. He steals a bishop to prove his point.

“Maybe I'd believe that if it were actually true,” Natasha replies coolly. “Maybe I should tell Steve to stop distracting you so much--”

“You wouldn't dare.” 

“You’re right, I wouldn’t." She leans forward and rests her elbows on the coffee table. "It’s so much more fun this way.”

Tony groans and buries his face in his hands. “I’m so fucked, Nat.”

"Yeah, you are.”

“What am I supposed to _do_?”

She gives him an appraising look. “You’re really asking for relationship advice, aren’t you?”

“I’m desperate,” he pleads.

Natasha looks taken aback for a moment, but only a moment. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” she admits.

“I don’t know either.  Just... tell me it’s hopeless and that I should just give up now and find something else to take up my time or… something…” he trails off, honestly unsure of what he’s asking of her. "Tell me anything."

Natasha just looks at him with... empathy? Tony's not sure, but he knows it isn't pity; It's never pity. “It’s not... hopeless,” she says slowly.

He eyes her disbelievingly. “It’s not?”

“You two are friends, right?  So it’s obvious that he at least tolerates you—”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So why not just ask him?”

“Does he even swing that way?”

“Shouldn’t matter.  Steve wouldn’t think of you any less.” She pushes a lock of hair out of her face. "He may come from a more conservative time period, but we all know there's more to him than that."

“But he’s never shown interest in me that way,” Tony reasons. “He’s never—”

“That's because Steve isn’t the type of person to do so.”

“What do you mean?”

Natasha considers the question before answering, “You know how Steve charges into battles with that... resolute determination? How he doesn't hesitate to at least _try_ to approach them, regardless of the risk?" Tony nods. "Well, he doesn’t do relationships like that.” When Tony gives her a questioning look, she continues: “I tried setting him up with some people, but he wouldn't have any of it. Steve only went out with Sharon because she asked. He’s a really reserved guy, practically raised himself, y’know.”

He nods again.  He honestly doesn't know how Steve can function like he does: orphaned as a child, watched his best friend fall to his death, left the love of his life to fly a plane into the ocean... and the kid wasn't even thirty yet.

“So you can probably understand why he’s reluctant to put himself out there.”

And Tony does.  He gets it.  He gets why someone like Steve, who’s had to fight for everything he had only to have it all ripped away from him, would be so afraid to put his heart on the line. The war may have been seventy years ago for everyone else, but it's been less than two for Steve.

He had asked Natasha for advice, and she had given it. The least he could do is try to follow it, right? He and Steve are friends. Hell, Tony feels safe enough to say that, after over two months of living together, they're _close_ friends. He knows Steve, and he knows that Natasha's right in saying that Steve wouldn't be the kind of person to think of him any less if he were to admit his feelings.

He’s so deep in thought that he almost misses Natasha say, “Checkmate," and Tony's losing streak continues. He challenges her to another game, intending to redeem himself before the night's end.

The next morning, Tony’s slumber is interrupted because Steve unceremoniously throws a pillow at his face.

Tony groans (he really needs so stop falling asleep on the couch). “JARVIS, time?” He looks around the room and realizes he's the only one who managed to pass out before the evening's festivities were over.

_“It is currently six forty-three in the morning, sir.”_

He sits up and leers at the blond. “You better have a damn good reason for waking me up at such an ungodly hour.”

“I thought you might want to move to a more comfortable sleeping place,” Steve says, rationally. “Last time you fell asleep on the couch, you complained about your back all day.”

“Oh." Tony remembers adamantly denying his age while sitting in his chiropractor's office a week ago (Bruce and Steve had forced him to go. “Uh, thanks.”

“No problem.”

Tony rubs the sleep from his eyes and finally takes a good look at the man standing in front of him… who is wearing the same exact outfit he was wearing last night.

“I see you’ve had a good night,” Tony observes, and Steve has the decency to blush this time. “How was your date with Agent Miller?”

“How do you know who—”

“Natasha told me.”

“Oh.” Steve almost looks… relieved?

“So,” Tony ventures, “how was it?”

“It was fine,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Fine?  Just fine?”

“Yeah, but do you mind if... Can we not talk about this right now?” Steve asks, not meeting Tony's gaze.

“What? Why?” And no, Tony definitely does not whine.  He really wants to know, but he also doesn't want to annoy Steve either because even _he_ knows even he pushes the other man's limits. He decides to take the risk anyway. “Anyone would love to be in my position to hear about the good Captain’s wild night on the town—”

“Why does everyone always make comments like that? ” Steve blurts.

Tony blinks. “Like what?”

He hesitates before answering. "Like insinuating I'm... some sort of _prude_ , or something." 

Tony thinks for a moment, opens his mouth to reply, but realizes he has none that are necessarily meaningful. Steve continues to look at him expectantly, so Tony just shrugs and says the first thing that comes to mind. "You're Captain America. The title alone just screams wholesomeness and apple pie and kittens."

"But I still don't understand why people think they can't talk about things like sex around me.   _Me_ ," Steve emphasizes. "I mean, yeah, I'm Captain America, but I'm also a guy who grew up in _Brooklyn_ during the Depression.  I even went to  _art school_ , for Christ's sake." He crosses his arms and leans against the wall. "Even without the army, I think I can safely say that I know more than a lot of other people these days."

Tony's brow furrows in confusion. "Wait, what exactly does art school have to do with anyth—” Tony stops talking when he notices the unimpressed expression on Steve's face and—"Oh." His eyes widen as he processes the information further. " _Ohhh_." 

Steve rolls his eyes, but it's out of fondness more than irritation.  “I thought you knew.”

“Well, obviously not.” It seems Tony doesn’t know much these days. “But what about the whole... fondue thing?”

Steve's face heats up again. “Howard actually told you about that?” 

“I overheard him tell someone else the story once. It's pretty ador—amusing,” Tony corrects himself. “I didn't realize you were such a Casanova back then.”

“I wasn't. I mean, there was Peggy, but I still didn't have much luck with other dames," Steve says. "And guys were always just a lot easier to talk to.”

Tony hums in acknowledgement, not really knowing what to say.

“I still don't understand why you're so surprised," Steve muses. "I thought Natasha told you who I went out with last night?”

“Yeah, Agent Miller.”

Steve assesses him.  “You have no idea who that is, do you?”

“Not a clue,” the genius admits. 

“You met him,” Steve informs. “He was on the helicarrier when Loki tried to take it down.”

“There were hundreds of agents there, Cap,” Tony points out.  “I would never remember—”

“He was playing that game with the rockets and—”

“Whoa." Tony puts his hands up.  "Wait a—just… _wait_.” He looks at Steve dubiously. “You went out with Galaga Guy?”

“…yes?” 

“You went out with _Galaga Guy_ ,” Tony repeats (mostly to himself). No wonder Natasha hadn't said anything else about Steve's mystery date: that scheming redhead took joy in putting Tony in awkward situations like this. 

“What?  He’s a nice guy,” Steve defends. “Do you have a problem with him? Because if you do, there’s nothing to worry about—”

“No, it’s—What?”

“It was a one-time thing,” Steve continues.

“Oh, okay then.”  Tony recomposes himself. "So you aren't a thing?" he asks. 

Steve shakes his head. “Neither of us are looking for anything uh, serious at the moment.”

Part of Tony is relieved, but he still feels a hint of disappointment at the news. It wouldn't matter if he made a move or not if Steve isn't looking for a serious relationship.

They remain silent for a few moments before Steve speaks again. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

Steve looks at him expectantly. “Do you have a problem with him?” 

“No.  No, there’s no problem at all,” Tony lies. He feels unsettled from the recent turn of events, and realizes that maybe he doesn't know Steve as well as he originally thought. He's learned a number of things in the past twelve hours: 1) Steve plays for both teams, 2) Steve _definitely_ isn't the innocent little virgin that everyone has makes him out to be (Tony always had his reservations, but it was still surprising to hear it from him first-hand), and 3) Steve went on a date with, and presumably fucked, Galaga Guy.

Steve gestures towards the kitchen. “So... I looked at the fridge when I got back—”

“Yeah, there’s no food,” the genius answers dismissively, still trying process all of this new information.

“What happened?”

“Ah, let’s see…,” Tony ponders for a moment. “After you left, Natasha and I finished our game of chess.  Clint, Thor and I ordered pizza for dinner and watched some Food Network special on cupcakes.  Then, they decided that it would be a good idea to have a cupcake bake-off of our own.”

Steve cringes. “How did that go?”

“About as well as you’d expect.  Clint was still throwing up when I passed out, and that was around... three in the morning.”

Steve sighs. “Let’s just hope we don’t get a call today.”

Tony hums in agreement.  He watches Steve stand idly for a few moments before heading back into the kitchen, and then hears the sound of the cupboards being opened and closed.  The brunet gets off the couch and enters the disaster of a room to see Steve practically glowering at a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Natasha’s voice rings in his head: _It’s not hopeless._

“Do you wanna get out of here and get some breakfast?” Tony wants to berate himself because his palms are sweating. He's asking Steve to _breakfast_ and his palms are sweating. Only Odin knows how he would fare if he actually asked Steve on a... _date._

Okay, calm down, Stark. One step at a time.

Steve glances at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, the flour and sugar covering the counter, back at the pathetic box in his hand, and then finally at Tony.  “Yeah, sounds good.” 


	5. Red Rocker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony is embarrassed more times in one day than he's ever been in his whole life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at deadlines and I am really sorry.

Breakfast is never a quiet affair at Avengers Tower, and Tony's learned that the hard way. Between the various states of undress his teammates are often in (or rather, one particular teammate), impromptu arm wrestling tournaments (Natasha’s strength is ridiculously ~~terrifying~~ impressive for someone her size), and daily arguments over the merits of using a coffee pot as a mug, Tony's surprised Bruce hasn't caused as much property damage as Tony had originally allotted for in their budget.

This morning is unusually quiet because Clint had snuck out of the tower a couple hours ago, and Tony is about to make a remark about how nice the companionable silence is when the aforementioned archer appears, holding brightly colored shopping bags in his hands.

“Merry early Christmas!” the man greets, unceremoniously dumping the contents of one of the shopping bags on the kitchen table.

“Is Christmas not on the twenty-fifth?” Thor questions, eying the small pile of gift wrapped packages. 

“It is,” the archer confirms, “that’s why I said _early_.”

Bruce delicately picks out a red and green package with his name scribbled on it. “Any particular reason you’re giving us our presents now?”

“Well, I figured since I was brave enough to go to the stores on Christmas Eve morning, it’s only fair that I get to see your reactions when I want.  So… open them.” Clint sighs when the team continues to merely stare at the small pile of presents. “I’m serious.  It wasn’t a suggestion.  I’m telling you to open them.”

The team complies, and their expressions range from confusion to delight.

“They’re the new Avengers action figures!” Clint exclaims. “I got one for everyone.”

“According to the package, mine can summon lightning!” Thor says excitedly, as he tears open the packaging. “Although, I’m not entirely sure how that’s possible…?”

“It really just lights up, Thor.  They each have their own special features,” Clint adds. “Mine can shoot arrows, Steve’s can throw a shield, Natasha’s does this cool flippy thing in the air, and Bruce’s can pretty much smash anything in sight.”  

“Why do I have a Cap one?” asks Tony, holding up an action figure identical to Steve’s.

“I thought it would fit well in your little memorabilia room,” Clint says coolly, causing Tony’s face to turn a dangerous shade of red.

Steve’s brow furrows. “Wait, what?  What memorabilia room?”

Clint looks at him, clearly surprised. “You don’t know?”

“Oookay,” Tony cuts in, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving—”

“There’s a Captain America Room on Floor B,” Natasha informs, ignoring Tony’s muttered, ‘traitor.’  She retrieves a knife from thin air and cuts open her gift’s packaging.  

Steve is still confused. “Floor B—”

“Is it customary to give toys to people of older ages?” Thor asks out of the blue, seemingly unaware of the current conversation.  

Tony breathes a sigh of relief, thankful for the distraction.  However, when Thor shoots him a knowing glance, Tony realizes that the interruption wasn’t coincidental, and his face heats up even more.  

“Well, no,” Clint says in response to Thor’s question. “It isn’t… but who says we can’t get them anyway?”

“Thanks, Clint.”  Bruce had opened his present as well and was currently examining the detail of the action figure. “I can’t remember the last time I got a toy for Christmas.”

“I got a doll once.” Natasha’s voice is so quiet that the others aren’t even sure that they heard her. “It had brown hair and wore a red dress.”

“One year, when I was seven, my ma saved up to get me a train set,” Steve chimes in. “I kept it for years. Lost it before the war.”

“Tony, did you ever receive a toy during the holiday season?” Thor inquires.

“I never got a toy.”

Everyone in the room stares at Tony in disbelief.  Even Natasha’s looks genuinely surprised.  

“You never got a toy?” Steve asks. “Ever?”

“Well, I did, but… huh.  Maybe I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.  That sounds a lot more pathetic than it is.”

“So phrase it correctly,” Clint says, which earns him a kick in the shin from Natasha.

“My parents would send me and Jarvis to the toy store so I could pick out what I wanted—so yeah, I got toys, but I never actually got a toy _from_ them,” Tony explains.  He shrugs. “I don’t know.  It’s not a big deal.  I always had more fun with machines anyway.”

Steve looks like he's about to call Tony out on his bullshit response, and Tony kind of wishes he and Steve weren't so close because Tony’s practically an open book to him at this point. Steve’s learned how to recognize a lying Tony Stark. “Tony, I...” the man starts—

Of course, that’s when the alarm goes off, and Jarvis alerts them of a situation on Staten Island.  

“On Christmas Eve?” Clint says in disbelief.  “Really?”

Steve sighs. “Avengers, assemble.  Quinjet in five.”

Tony wants to sigh with relief himself, but then he catches Steve giving him a very stern look that tells him they’re going to talk later.

Unfortunately, "later" finds Tony in the halls of SHIELD medical. His body reverberates with tension as he looks for an all-too-familiar room.  The more intelligent agents know to move the hell out of his way, but the less knowledgeable ones end up getting… well, forciblygently pushed aside.  They all eventually learn that getting in the way of an angry Tony Stark is just asking for trouble.

Oh, but little do they know: Tony Stark isn’t just angry.

He is furious.

“You’re an idiot,” Tony snaps as soon as he steps into the room.  He looks at the man sitting on the hospital bed and thinks it’s strange it isn’t himself for once.

Steve turns his attention from the nurse cleaning the cut above his eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Tony says, taking the half-dozen steps to stand at his side.  The nurse gathers her things and hastily exits the room, but it’s obvious that she hadn’t really finished patching Steve up.  “I have an advanced suit of armor, Steve.  I could’ve taken that hit.”

Steve only shrugs. “I’m not apologizing for my actions.  I’ll heal in a day or two.”

“That’s not the point!  I—”  Tony sighs.  He tries to shake the memory of pulling Steve out of a pile of wreckage. “You’re lucky you only walked away with a very mild concussion and a few cracked ribs.  What were you thinking?!”

“I was thinking that I should get my teammate out of harm’s way since he was too busy kicking another villain’s ass to notice.”

“Was that really worth getting thrown into a building and having said building _collapse_ on you?  You aren’t invincible.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Steve snaps.

Tony bites his tongue.  The last thing they both need right now is another shouting match.  

“Y’know…,” Steve starts after the few moments of silence, “it’s really weird being on the receiving end of this talk.”

Tony silently agrees.  No one would ever believe that Tony Stark had to lecture Captain America about anything.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Bruce and Thor went back to the tower, but they’ve probably left for the holiday already… and Fury sent Natasha and Clint on a super-secret spy mission to some secret, undisclosed location—”

Steve scoffs.  “We both know that you know exactly where they’re going.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Whatever.” Tony waves it off.  “Anyway—hey, wait.  You’re detouring from the conversation.  That’s my job!”

“I guess you’ve just been an awfully good influence on me, Mr. Stark.”

“I don’t remember my old man ever saying anything about your dangerously high levels of sass, Steven.”

“Tony,” Steve says, suddenly tired.  “I don’t know about you, but I really don’t want to spend Christmas at SHIELD, so can we just… drop this for now and go home?”

Tony should refuse his request.  He should continue this talk and berate the good ol’ Captain for taking such a stupid risk… but Tony takes one look at those pleading blue eyes, and he finds himself bribing Fury to let him go home, and then helping Steve off the bed and escorting him out of the room. “Don’t think this conversation is over,” he says, ushering Steve into the car.  

The blond rolls his eyes. “Yes, mom.”

The ride back to the tower is uncomfortably quiet, but Steve looks exhausted and Tony knows they'll end up screaming at each other again if either of the try to say anything. Luckily, the usual daytime traffic is practically nonexistent since the doombots from earlier had forced everyone to evacuate the area, so the car ride isn't too long. Tony parks the car in the workshop, and then escorts Steve into the elevator and up to the communal floor. 

They're greeted by a very cheerful Thor, dressed in an atrocious red and green sweater with reindeer and little bells.

“Steve!  I am so glad you are well enough to spend the holiday with us.  You fought a mighty battle today.”

“Thanks, Thor.”   

“I thought you were visiting Jane?” Tony asks, confused.

“I decided to come visit you guys instead,” Jane says, emerging from the kitchen and giving Tony a hug. “I didn’t want to separate Thor from his family on his first uh, Midgardian Christmas.”  She looks at Steve sheepishly.  “Uh… I’d hug you, but given how accident prone I am, I’d probably end up injuring you even more… but it’s nice to see you, Steve.”

Steve smiles. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

“So,” Jane claps her hands together, “dinner’s in the oven and should be ready in an hour.”

Tony looks at her incredulously. “You’re cooking?”

“Hey!” She playfully punches his arm. “I’m getting better, I swear.”

“It is true.  Her skills have improved significantly,” reassures Thor.

“I’ve been supervising,” Bruce adds, joining them.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Tony mutters, which earns him another punch. “Weren’t you supposed to visit family in Virginia or whatever?”

“Inclement weather there, so my flight’s postponed ‘til tomorrow,” he explains.

“I’m, uh… gonna go up to my room and rest for a bit,” Steve announces.

“Do you need any help?” Tony asks.

“No, no.  I’m uh, good,” he assures, even though he’s clutching his side a little.  “Just call me when dinner’s ready?”

“Sure thing, Steve,” Bruce says.

Tony watches the man go before turning his attention back to the others. 

…who have knowing smirks on their faces.

Tony tries to look as apathetic as possible. “What?”

“Nothing.”  Jane, for her small stature, looks absolutely evil.  Tony knows that look.  He knows two other women who have perfected it.  “I have to make a phone call.”

“You aren’t calling Pepper, are you?” Tony calls after her.  “Don’t think I don’t know that you two became BFFs overnight and constantly gossip about me behind my back!”

“Oh, Tony.  You aren’t the only person we gossip about,” Jane says over her shoulder as walks into the living room.

Thor puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Does our Captain know of your feelings?” he asks in a low voice.

“Uh…”

“That’s genius-talk for ‘no,’ Thor,” Bruce answers.  

Thor nods. “Do you intend to tell him, then?”

“Y’know what?” Tony says, backing into the kitchen.  “I think this is the kind of conversation that warrants alcohol.”

“There’s eggnog in the fridge,” Bruce offers.

Tony looks pained. “You don’t have anything that’s more… I don’t know, in a shot glass?  Or a crystal decanter?”

“You’re not getting wasted on Christmas Eve,” Bruce says with an air of finality.

Turns out, talking about feelings while stone-cold-sober isn't one of his favorite pasttimes. Thor, for his abrasiveness and impulsive tendencies, is actually very level headed; and then there's Bruce, who is practically the definition of reason.

So maybe Tony spills a little too much and embarrasses himself in front of two of his friends, but it's because of them that Tony finds himself knocking on Steve’s door long after dinner is over.  He hears a muffled ‘come in,’ and then walks inside to find Steve sitting on his bed, watching television.

“So…” Tony says lamely.

Steve motions for him to sit on the bed, and Tony acquiesces. “I believe you wanted to finish our earlier conversation,” Steve says after muting the television.

“I had a whole lecture planned out and everything, but to be honest, I’m too tired to tell it to you,” Tony admits. “Can you just… Don’t do that again.”

“I can’t promise that,” Steve says, “and you know it.  We all know this job came with a lot of risks.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to risk your life for me.” Tony doesn’t mean to say it aloud, but it’s out before he can stop himself.  

Steve frowns. “You’re my friend.”

“I could’ve handled it.  My suit is _made_ for that kind of situation, Steve.”

“Look, Tony, I… I know that you were already doing this superhero thing by yourself for a while, but you seriously need to realize that you now have a team that cares about you,” Steve says softly. “I made a call, and I paid the price.  Yeah, I’m lucky I didn’t get more serious injuries, but you were— _are_ —worth protecting.”  He’s so damn earnest that Tony wants to cry.

Steve glances at the watch on his wrist before leaning over the edge of the bed and pulling out a large paper shopping bag.  He sets it in front of the other man.  “Merry Christmas, Tony.”  

Tony checks his own watch and sees that it’s 12:06.  He looks back at Steve guiltily. “I didn’t… I haven’t had time to get anyone anything yet.”

“You didn’t have to,” Steve assures. “I just saw this in a store window a few weeks ago and thought you might like it.  I was gonna giftwrap it and give it to you in the morning, but this works too.  Saves a tree.”

Tony looks in the bag and stifles a laugh when he reads the contents of the box inside.  “Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots?”

Steve shrugs. “I heard they were popular when they came out… it was before your time, but I still think they’re pretty cool.”  He watches Tony read the description on the box. 

“I’ve never actually played with one of these,” Tony admits.

“Why don’t you open it, then?” Steve proposes. “It’s a two-player game, and there’s two of us.  I’ve never played it either.”

Tony opens the box and takes out the platform before taking out the two robots.  

He doesn’t bother holding back his laughter when he realizes that Steve had painted Red Rocker and Blue Bomber to resemble Iron Man and Captain America.

“You’re ridiculous,” Tony says, but he’s smiling. “Thanks, Steve.”

Steve smiles back, obviously pleased that Tony liked his gift. “You’re welcome.”

An hour and forty-four rounds of Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots later, Tony and Steve are still sitting on the floor of Steve’s bedroom, the game situated between them.

“Twenty-three out of forty-five?”

Steve groans. “Tony, I’m glad you like the gift and all, but it’s one in the morning.”

“I promise: one more game, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Tony…”

“Steeeeeve.”

Steve hesitates, but smirks when an idea hits him.  “I’ll play another game, but on one condition.”

Tony looks at him inquisitively. “What is it?”

“You have to tell me about that Captain America Room that Clint and Nat were talking about this morning.”  

Tony quickly scrambles to his feet and gathers his things. “Well, wouldya look at the time!  Thanks again for the gift, Cap!”  He hurries to the door.  “Merry Christmas!  See you in the morning!”

Three days later, Steve finds a familiar antique train set in his room; the initials "S.R." are carved onto the bottom of the engine.


	6. A Continuous Process

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve is a little slow on the uptake, and Tony still doesn't know when to shut up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter! I've never finished a multi-chapter fic before, so this is a huge deal for me. 
> 
> I just wanna give a shout out to [flange5](http://flange5.tumblr.com) for her support and encouragement! :)

Steve’s never liked parties.  They’re always too crowded, full of people exchanging fake pleasantries.  He had gotten used to being a fly on the wall when he was younger. After the serum, however, he had seemed to attract attention everywhere he went, and Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

Out on the balcony, he can still hear the jazz music and loud chatter through the closed double doors, but the crisp winter air is still significantly better than the stifling heat inside the hotel ballroom.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony greets, breaking Steve out of his reverie—he hadn’t even heard the door open.   

“Hi, Tony.”

“I noticed you sneak out a few minutes ago.” He closes the doors behind him and situates himself next to Steve.  

“Yeah, I just needed some air.  I don’t do well in crowds like this.”

Tony nods in understanding and swirls the champagne in his glass. “So, you and Agent 13…”

Steve rolls his eyes at Tony’s attempt at small talk. “It was just a dance, Tony.  Besides, everyone kind of… forced us to,” he admits.

Tony feigns shock. “I thought Captain America couldn’t be forced to do anything.”  

“When the leader of the group is a persuasive, redheaded assassin, you realize that’s not always the case,” Steve points out. “She promised she’d stop trying to set me up, though—definitely a resolution I’m thankful for.”  

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Got any resolutions for the new year?”

Steve shakes his head. “Not really, no.”

Tony looks at him strangely. “Really?”

“Yeah.”  Tony’s evidently surprised by his answer, so Steve looks at him questioningly. “What?”

“Nothing, just… I dunno.  I feel like Captain America would be the type to be all for starting new and whatever.”

“I guess I just don’t see the point in making resolutions,” Steve says tentatively.  “Why should we wait until for a new year to start making ourselves better people?  Shouldn’t improvement be a continuous process?  I mean, if you want to do something, just do it.” He feels his face heat up.  “Uh… not that I would stop anyone from making them.  Goals are better than no goals, right?”

Tony ponders for a moment. “I never really thought about it that way.”  He polishes off his champagne before putting his glass down and leaning against the railing. “You look like you have something on your mind.”  

Steve shrugs.  “I was just thinking.  I spent my last New Year’s undercover in Italy, and the one before that, I was infiltrating a HYDRA base in the forties.”

“This party is pretty dull in comparison then, huh?”

“No, of course not.  It’s just… different,” he ventures.  “The change of pace is nice.”

“So is that why you’re out here on the deck?  And not inside enjoying yourself?” Tony asks, gesturing towards the double-doors behind them.

“Sorry,” Steve apologizes, a little embarrassed. “It just got a little too much for me.”

“But it’s five minutes to midnight.  Everyone’s going to be looking for you.”  

“I didn’t think anyone would miss me,” Steve says wryly.  He honestly hadn’t thought it would be a big deal since there were hundreds of other people there.  He’s surprised Tony noticed he was gone.  

“I missed you,” Tony says after a brief silence.  

Steve isn’t sure if Tony hadn’t meant for him to ear, but he turns his head so fast, he thinks he almost gets whiplash. “What?”

“I said, ‘I missed you,’” Tony says again, clearer this time.  “It’s kind of hard to not acknowledge your presence… or lack thereof.”

Steve stares at him dumbly, unable to come up with an intelligible response. “What?”

The other man looks back at him, his lips quirking into a small smile.  “So… this is my New Year’s resolution, except it isn’t, because improvement should be a continuous process, right?”

“Tony, what are you—”

“You make me want to be a better person,” Tony says earnestly. “We’ve both been through a lot of shit, but regardless of the chaos, and the fact that my life is just an absolute mess, I’m really glad that I met you.”

Tony takes Steve’s shocked silence as his queue to keep talking.

“Look,” he says slowly, “I’ve tried ignoring these _feelings_ I have for you… but as it turns out, suppressing them actually resulted in the exact opposite of what I had wanted, and they _kinda_ grew into something that I’m still a little afraid to acknowledge but—wow, I’m really rambling here, aren’t I?  I am way too sober for this.”

Steve realizes he’s practically gaping like a fish out of water and probably looks like an idiot.  He desperately wants to say something, but can’t seem to form any words.

Tony takes a deep breath. “So after being on this team for a year and a half, and essentially living together for the past few months, I’ve come to the realization, that—and forgive me for sounding like I’m in middle school—but I like you… in a more than platonic way.”

And suddenly, everything makes sense: the random afternoons when Tony would drag him to the movie theater to watch the latest action flick, the trips to the diner for burgers, and the late nights they spent in Tony’s lab watching horrible television shows.  

But it was also in the way Tony would look at him from across the table, and how forced his smiles looked after asking Steve how his date went.  It was the way Tony would never hesitate to give Steve his undivided attention, and how Tony’s hands seemed to linger for a moment longer whenever they touched; the way Tony would go up to Steve after every battle to make sure he was okay before he attended to his own injuries.  Steve had _noticed_ him do all of those things, and never thought twice about it.

But what really surprises Steve is he had _let_ Tony do all of those things.  He had _let_ Tony shower him with attention, and he considers that maybe it’s because he had been craving it all along.

Oh, who was he kidding?  He’s wanted this for a long time, and he wants to kick himself for not realizing it sooner.

“You… you’re my best friend, Tony—”

“And you’re mine too,” Tony says immediately, “which is why I can’t believe I’m actually telling you this in the first place.”  

Steve refrains from calling Tony out for interrupting him. “Tony, I—”

“Okay, I’m sorry for putting you in such an awkward situation,” Tony backtracks. “Listen, I’m telling you this because I value your friendship more than anything, and if you don’t feel the same way, I hope that this doesn’t change things between us.  I just… I needed to tell you, because I really don’t want to lie to you anymore and—wait, why are you holding my hand?”

“Do you not want me to?” Steve asks, interlocking their fingers anyway.  

“No, no,” Tony answers, shaking his head. “Go ahead.  Proceed with the hand holding.  It’s… nice.”

“Just nice?” Tony can see that Steve is clearly amused by his idiocy.

“Very nice,” he amends. “The nicest.”

“For a guy who denies being sentimental, this is incredibly cliché,” says Steve when everyone inside starts counting down the final minute to the new year.

“Says the man who wears an American flag on a daily basis.”

Steve feels like he should be annoyed that Tony always seems to interrupt him, but he actually finds it kind of endearing. “What I’m trying to say is: _you’re_ the one who makes me want to be a better person.”

Tony reels from the admission. “What are you talking about? I’m a terrible influence, Steven.”

“Tony, I’ve been in this time for over a year and a half, and… well, I’ve adjusted.  I’ve definitely adjusted,” Steve says. “The thing is, it wasn’t until we all started living together that I went from just trying to deal with this time to actually _enjoying_ it.  You did that.  You’ve always encouraged me to try new things, go to new places, and meet new people. 

“You…”  

“I like you, Tony,” Steve says.  “I like you, uh, _a lot_.  _A lot_ , a lot. I’m just sorry it took me this long t—”

Steve doesn’t have the chance to finish his thought because Tony pulls him down by the back of his neck and closes the distance between them.  Their lips meet, and it’s sweet and surprisingly gentle and better than anything Steve had ever experienced in his life.  He places his hands on Tony’s hips and pulls their bodies closer together, and Tony makes a sound of approval.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” everyone cheers inside.

“A very happy new year, indeed,” Tony murmurs against Steve's mouth.

"Stop talking and kiss me again." 

"Yes, sir!" Tony complies, but abruptly pulls away a moment later.  

“Tony?”

“I just confessed my undying love to Captain America on New Year’s Eve,” Tony blurts.  “I’ve become a Hallmark movie.  I can see the headlines now: ‘Tony Stark, Genius, Billionaire, Philanthropist, and World’s Biggest Sap.’”

Steve’s lips curve upwards into an amused smirk.  “…undying love?”

Tony narrows his eyes.  “I’m basically everything that I swore I would never become and _that’s_ what you fixate on?”

“Tony.”

“Steve.”

He looks at Tony expectantly.

“I guess I’ve already humiliated myself tonight, why not just—okay, fine. I love you.” Tony puts his hands back to his sides and pointedly doesn’t look at the other man. “I’m literally just a walking harlequin romance now.  I hope you’re happy.”

“Tony, look at me,” Steve says, and the other man grudgingly looks back, and Steve just wants to kiss him to make the pout on his face disappear, but he needs to say what’s on his mind first.

“Steve, don’t…,” Tony starts, a little unsure, “Don’t feel obligated to say anything back.  I know you’re just figuring all of this out now so—” Tony stops talking because Steve puts a hand over his mouth, and Steve realizes it’s reminiscent of the first time he’d had to shut Tony up.

“Tony, I love you, too,” Steve says, retracting his hand, “because of course I do.  And I’m saying this because I want to, not because I feel obligated.”

He blinks. “You do?”

Steve weaves their fingers together again. “You know I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he murmurs against the other man’s lips.  "I'm just sorry I didn't realize it sooner." 

“I know that... I just can’t believe this is actually happening,” Tony says quietly.

“Why?”

“It doesn’t seem _real_ ,” Tony answers, still bewildered at the turn of events. “Seriously. It's too good to be true.”

Steve smiles.  “Let me try to convince you, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: This is now a series! The next installment can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1920564).

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](http://brandnewfashion.tumblr.com/)!


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